


Heart Language

by FushigiNoKuniNo



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: ...yeah that's what i'm going with, Angst, Gen, HugJonSims2k19, Jon Makes the Tea, but then hug!, do we have a tea-related fic tag yet because we really need one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 14:32:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18718999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FushigiNoKuniNo/pseuds/FushigiNoKuniNo
Summary: But here, now... It had been weeks since he’d seen as much as a glimpse of Martin’s heels as he rounded a corner. Yet here he was, not a half-dozen paces away.#HugJonSims2k19





	Heart Language

“Took you long enough.”

Jon gave the kettle a testy look as it finally began to boil. The heating element was starting to go; someone really should replace the thing. Not that he was excited to get back to _the Archers_ , exactly—in fact, “exciting” was about as antithetical to _the Archers_ as the Buried was to the Vast, in his mind—but Daisy was listening with him today, and it was...nice. A passable facsimile of normal. Almost enough to make him forget—

The sound of a sharp intake of breath from behind him nearly made him jump out of his skin. It  _ did _ make him spill hot water on his hand, and while it certainly was not the worst thing to have happened that to particular extremity, it hurt enough to make him cry out as he turned to look across the tiny room.

“What the— Martin!” Whatever physical sensations he had been experiencing were quickly overwhelmed by the sheer shock of seeing his erstwhile archival assistant stood in the doorway. And perhaps in ordinary circumstances Jon might have been able to laugh at himself for that—encountering one’s colleagues in the kitchenette is, after all, a hazard common to most workplaces. But here, now... It had been  _ weeks _ since he’d seen as much as a glimpse of Martin’s heels as he rounded a corner. Yet here he was, not a half-dozen paces away.

“Hi, Jon,” Martin said, in a voice so soft as to be nearly inaudible. His gaze was directed off toward the corner, pointedly avoiding meeting Jon’s. But of course it was. Even when Jon was still  _ finding  _ him, he hadn’t been willing to look him in the eye. “Sorry, I— I didn’t mean to surprise you. I’ll—”

Jon had already swallowed the flood of questions that sprang to mind, and as he watched Martin take a step backward, he forced down one emotion after another, along with myriad words that he knew would do him no good. He had tried that before, and Martin… Martin had made it clear that he didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to see Jon at all. And Jon would respect that—it was the least he could do. The  _ only _ thing he could do, now.

But he couldn’t not say  _ something _ . If only because he wasn’t sure he could take Martin literally fleeing the room because he was in it.

“Just give me a moment, alright? And I’ll be out of your way.” He turned around as he said it, facing back toward the steeping beverages, trying to conjure with his voice the long-discarded facade of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist, and his stubborn air of detachment. He mostly succeeded. It would have been nigh impossible to notice the slight quaver that crept into his voice toward the end, he was sure.

He couldn’t see Martin’s reaction, but there was no sound of receding footsteps, so he let out a quiet breath and busied himself with the tea. It was better, to focus on the task at hand. And if his hands shook slightly as he added sugar to Daisy’s cup, it would like as not go unnoticed.

He dropped the spoon into the cup with the sugar, and moved quickly to the refrigerator to grab the milk. He could sort out the business of stirring and removing tea bags later. If he worked fast enough, Martin wouldn’t have to worry that he would break the silence. Wouldn’t feel the need to preemptively disappear on him.

Jon added a splash of milk for himself, and a generous portion for Daisy. He tried to recall the warmth he usually felt when thinking of how unexpected yet somehow  _ right _  her tea preferences were, but it was...difficult, with the leaden loneliness inside him now, gripping his heart like a vise. He did not look back toward the door as he moved to replace the container. Did not want to see if Martin was still looking away.

And if he wasn’t...well, there were any number of circumstances that could explain the tears in the eyes of a beleaguered Archivist. For all Martin knew, he might have read a rather tragic statement. Or stayed up for days on end, immersed in research until his body could no longer bear the exhaustion. Such things had been known to happen. And he  _ had _ just burned his hand. 

It hurt; that was all. It didn’t have to hurt because of Martin.  _ Jon _ didn’t have to hurt because of Martin. Nor because he had made the selfish choice rather than the noble one, only to find that everything he had chosen to come back  _ to _ was lost to him.

Jon forced down a lump in his throat, and set his jaw as he closed the door to the refrigerator. He turned around. He would take the mugs from the counter, and go. It would be over. But—

But Martin’s arms were around his shoulders before he knew what was happening. Enveloping him in an embrace that was warm and gentle yet somehow  _ fierce _ . An embrace that was so very  _ Martin _ . It felt like the rush of relief he had known  upon hearing the confession of creative CV embellishment. It tasted of tea always a little better than what he prepared for himself. It spoke to him of fondness and worry whispered into whirring cassette tapes.

He wanted to know what was going on. Of course he did. He was the Archivist, after all. But more importantly, he was Jonathan Sims. It was in his nature to know, to see—but that was not all he was, and he wouldn’t let it be. So instead of saying anything that might risk shattering the fragile equilibrium of the moment, he wrapped his arms around Martin’s back and buried his face in his shoulder.

He couldn’t ask. He  _ wouldn’t  _ ask. But the way Martin hugged him tighter in response, how his fingertips dug into the cloth of his shirt—it was an answer. And Jon felt it in his skin; in his bones; in his heart that, in spite of all good sense, still beat.

It was Martin who pulled away first, of course, and Jon did not try to stop him. Because he wasn’t really letting him go, he understood. He  _ finally _ understood. Whatever Martin’s plans, leaving Jon behind had never been his intent. Which meant that it was far too early to give up.

And so, for now, he stepped back.

“Daisy will be wanting her tea,” he said, turning to take the mugs from where they sat. It would be oversteeped, but that was a vanishingly small price to pay.

As he walked past Martin to the door, their arms brushed gently. It was the lightest ghost of a touch, and though the smile Jon gave at feeling it was equally subtle, he didn’t doubt that the only person who needed to know would be able to tell. 

“I’ll see you around, Martin.”

“Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> Look, Jon and Martin being apart is very good for their character development and blah blah blah, but I can't help but feel like if Jon at least knew Martin still cares about him we'd all be a lot better off. _Jonny_. >(
> 
> Anyway, come shout at me @stopitjon on tumblr—or even better, check out @pilesofnonsense and join the Rusty Quill Big Bang.
> 
> (and yes, the title is from the greatest of all Florence + the Machine songs)


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